


Until We Become Something New

by spibsy (lucy_and_ramona)



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Blow Jobs, Consensual Infidelity, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, M/M, Multi, Multiple Partners, Polyamory, Resolved Sexual Tension, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-11
Updated: 2014-01-11
Packaged: 2018-01-08 07:34:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1130000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucy_and_ramona/pseuds/spibsy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AJ Lee is very good at noticing things, like where to call a spot in the ring, or when to stop talking before you get yourself in trouble, or when your boyfriend totally wants to bang Dean Ambrose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Until We Become Something New

**Author's Note:**

> so i have a thing for poly negotiation, leave me alone. this is set sort of nebulously, in a universe where storyline is storyline and wrestling is scripted but everybody still has their ring names because i feel weird writing their real names. also clearly i don't think this happened. equally clearly i'm not writing about the actual people behind their wrestling personas.

AJ Lee is a smart woman.

It's something she prides herself on, her ability to notice things that other people might not. It's an incredibly useful ability, especially in the wrestling industry.

Sometimes, it's nice to just sit back in the midst of all the rush and watch people, and a lot of the time, if you watch people, you notice things about them.

Like the fact that your boyfriend totally has a crush on another dude.

She's not sure about it at first, maybe just because it's not what she's looking for. There's only so much, though, that can be explained away by 'I admire his in-ring work,' and Punk passed that point about three blushing giggles ago. AJ's seen crushes and she knows what they look like. 

They look like Dean Ambrose cracking a joke and Punk ducking his head when he laughs at it. They look like Punk subconsciously leaning forward when Dean's talking, licking his lips whenever Dean does. They look like Punk absently staring off into the distance, except he's just staring at Dean, standing at the water cooler.

AJ doesn't mind, really, because Punk still pays attention to her, still listens when she's saying something and laughs at her jokes, too, and she knows he thinks she's hot. She's not jealous of Dean Ambrose, really -- and not angry at him, either; she likes Dean a lot from the conversations she's had with him. She's mostly just impressed by his ability to completely charm everybody around him, because she's not yet met a person who had anything but glowing praise to heap on him.

There's just a difference between the way that Daniel Bryan compliments Dean's work ethic and the way that Punk stares at his ass when he bends over. 

Not that AJ blames him. She's looked, obviously. She's only human, and you can only watch your boyfriend ogle someone so many times before you decide to take a peek yourself.

"Do you want me to leave you two alone, or...?" she mutters, peering at Punk from underneath her eyelashes as he watches Dean from across the room. He's not even subtle about it, his eyes following every move the man makes. It's impossible that Dean hasn't noticed. He has to have noticed.

"What? No. Shut up. What?" Punk says in succession, his eyes narrowing at her, finally drawn away from Dean. He was probably mentally writing C.M. + D.A. on a notebook.

AJ bobs her head toward Dean, then shrugs. "Your crush," she says, careful to keep the glee off of her face as horror crosses Punk's. "On Ambrose."

"What?" Punk repeats. He's already shaking his head. "No. No. Whatever it is, no. What's going on in your head? You're thinking. I don't like it."

"I have no idea what you're talking about." AJ goes for cute, tossing her hair over her shoulder and blinking at him. "I just think it's cute, your thing for him."

"I do not have a _thing_ ," Punk spits the word like most people spit curses, "for Ambrose. I have an admiration for the man's talent."

"Is his talent on the seat of his pants?" AJ asks curiously, looking across the room as though she's planning on checking for herself.

Mmm. To be fair, an ass as nice as Ambrose's could probably be seen as a talent in some circles. AJ wonders if he can make it do tricks. 

"No. What are you doing? No." Punk is frowning deeply at her, and she cheerily kisses him on the cheek. "Don't -- Why do you have that look on your face?"

"What look?" AJ sighs. "You're always so suspicious. This is just how my face looks."

Of course, AJ is in the middle of forming a plan. A very devious plan, which could potentially work out to the benefit of all of them if she can make it go right. She just has to catch Ambrose alone at some point soon. That shouldn't be too hard.

She's forced to eat her words when it takes her until an hour before the show to find the man. He's incredibly talented at making himself scarce, and she really only finds _him_ because she finds Roman first, and Roman's very helpful at pointing her in the direction Dean's gone.

She spots him just before he turns a corner down another hallway and has to shout, "Dean!" to get him to stop, which earns her a curious look from some of the other talent, but whatever. It makes him stop and turn around, and he smiles when he sees it's her, so that's a good sign. It's a confused smile, but she's never gone out of her way to seek him out before.

"Hey, AJ," he says, uncapping his water bottle. For someone who can be utterly terrifying in the ring, she'd been surprised by how mild-mannered he is most of the time. She does notice (her noticing-things-thing is very much coming in handy as of late) that his eyes slide behind her for just a second. Checking to see if Punk is with her?

"Can I talk to you?" she asks, smiling to make sure he knows it's nothing bad. She's not _upset_ that her boyfriend wants to fuck a hot guy. That's been her dream since she was, like, sixteen.

"Uh, yeah, sure," he says, his eyebrows a little bit raised. Good. She'll keep him on his toes and then strike when he's least expecting it. Jerking his head back down the hallway, he says, "My locker room's this way?"

"Awesome, that works great." She knows Roman's not there already, and Seth's probably outside the arena somewhere, hyping himself up for the show by rubbing leaves and dirt all over his body or something.

She doesn't know Seth Rollins very well. But she likes to think that's what he's doing.

Dean’s locker room is the usual, what you get used to at a certain point in your WWE career. They’re all the same, varying shades of cream or off-white or beige.

“So, what’s up?” Dean asks after he’s sat down, gesturing for her to take a chair as well. He’s not dressed in his ring gear yet, just jeans and a t-shirt with his hair dry and curling over his forehead. Maybe she’s noticing a bit much, but, well, Punk’s not the only person who can look, is he?

“Oh, right,” AJ says as she takes a seat, one leg bouncing over the other. “So, you know Punk?”

“Do I know Punk?” Dean repeats. He looks amused. “Yes, I do know Punk. Unless we’re talking about the musical genre? Then I’m a little more out of my depth.”

“No, Punk-Punk. CM Punk.” AJ laughs, shaking her head. “I forget that it’s an actual word, I guess.”

Dean smiles. He’s got such a nice smile, a dimple and everything. “I know him, yeah.” He still looks like he’s not sure where this conversation is leading, which AJ supposes is reasonable, considering.

“What do you think of him?” AJ asks. She’s just realized that she doesn’t really know how to bring up that she’d like Dean to maybe fuck her boyfriend a little. She had a whole plan when she came here but nowhere in that plan did she have the words to this conversation.

“Uh, I like him?” Dean squints a little, still amused but with confusion added to the mix now. “He’s a friend?”

“A friend! Right!” AJ exclaims. Dean’s starting to look kind of frightened. This wasn’t her plan. Maybe she should regroup. She takes a second to clear her mind, then coughs. “He really likes you, too, you know?”

There we go. Dean stops looking so weirded out and instead a hopeful smile touches to the corners of his lips. “Yeah? Does he talk about me?”

Immediately after he says it, he looks like he regrets it, clearing his throat and attempting to quell the dawning wide-eyed look on his face.

“All the time!” AJ jumps in before he can backtrack. “Seriously, he never shuts up about you. I’ll be trying to talk to him about something and it’ll be like, okay, Punk, any time now, he won’t disappear if you stop looking at him!” 

She laughs and he laughs with her, slowly, but the best part is that it’s not even a joke. She’s genuinely had to say Punk’s name multiple times before because he was distracted by Dean.

“It’s kind of cute, actually.” This is it. She has to get this exactly right. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he had, like, a schoolboy crush or something.”

Dean looks like a deer in the headlights, but, AJ is delighted to notice, there’s a kind of pleased satisfaction at the edges of his face that makes a lick of heat curl up in her ribs.

He takes a moment to respond, maybe gathering his thoughts or trying to decide what the best way to phrase what he’s about to say is. 

“Are you – “ he starts and stops, eying AJ. “Joking?” he concludes without looking away from her. It’s easy to see, when you’re on this end of a stare from him, how it is that he can be so intimidating in the ring. AJ might be scared if she wasn’t busy being kind of turned on by it.

“Am I joking about what?” she asks, but the innocent works about as well on him as it does on Punk: not at all. He just narrows his eyes further at her and tilts his head.

“What’re you up to?” he asks. AJ likes that. Straightforwardness in a man is so hard to find. He deserves the truth for that, or at least part of it. She shrugs.

“He has a thing for you. I don’t think I’m wrong in thinking you have a thing for him.” She gets her answer by way of the red tint growing on Dean’s face, and the way he finally looks away.

“So, what, is this like – do you want me to back off?” He’s twisting and untwisting the cap on his bottle. “I wasn’t gonna try anything, obviously, so you really don’t have anything to worry about.”

“I didn’t think you were. You’re a nice guy, you wouldn’t do that.” AJ drums her fingers against her leg. “But I mean, what if I asked you to?”

That gets his attention again, though he’s frowning now. “What are you talking about?”

“Look, Dean.” AJ folds her hands. She has to make this sound good. “I’m a simple girl with simple pleasures. I like little dogs, Chuck Taylors, and French fries. And I like the thought of you kissing my boyfriend. I like it a lot, actually. And I think you probably do, too.”

AJ notices things, again, the way Dean’s water bottle crumples a little as he squeezes it too hard and the way he licks his lips like he’s thinking about it right now.

“What’s the catch?” he asks. He’s not denying any of it, which is more than AJ can say for Punk. She’s pretty sure he’ll take more convincing. “There always is one.”

“No catch.” AJ smiles at him. “I want you to make out with Punk. You want you to make out with Punk. Punk definitely wants you to make out with Punk. Wins all around.”

There’s a moment where Dean is staring at her and she’s staring back and the room is utterly silent, so silent that AJ can hear the clock on the wall ticking. 

Dean leans back in his seat, something in his posture more relaxed now. “So, just kissing, or?”

AJ holds back a squeal, and manages to refrain from clapping. “I think you and I are going to get along very nicely indeed, Dean.”

\--

"You're really sure about this?" Dean mutters to AJ. They're sitting in the monitor bay watching Punk's match, and his feet are propped up on the chair in front of him. "This is a situation I never really expected to find myself in."

"I'm really, really sure." AJ licks her lips, title propped in her lap. She's all changed, ready to go out and act like she thinks she's above everybody else, maybe scream a little. Dean's in his Shield gear, too, with his own belt around his waist. It's kind of distracting. She's tweeted about it before, but she wasn't lying when she said that the Shield are really hot. Dean's really hot. Dean making out with Punk would be really hot. She's definitely sure she wants it to happen.

"And you're sure he's into it, too?" Dean asks. He's rubbing the back of his neck. "I don't wanna – fuck around if he's not into it."

"Trust me." AJ nudges his side with her elbow. "He's definitely into it. You'll see. Just stick to the plan; his match is almost over."

"Stick to the plan," mumbles Dean. "Right. The plan."

Punk's match ends on the monitor, which means he'll be heading back toward them soon. AJ stands and offers Dean her title belt. "Give me a hand?"

Dean takes the championship and it's appallingly adorable to see him in all-black holding a belt with a pink and purple butterfly on it, and when she turns around, he helps to cinch it around her waist.

"I really hope your plan works," he murmurs into her ear. His breath ruffles her hair. "You've got a really amazing boyfriend."

AJ giggles, partially from what he said, and partially because she's wearing a crop top and in order to fasten her belt it means his fingers keep brushing her back and it half tickles, half makes her tingle in fun places.

"He's pretty special," she allows, turning back around. "He's also almost back from the ring, go!" she shoos, sitting back in her seat to get a good view of the show.

The opening act: getting to watch Dean walk away. Good lord, the man has some truly inspiring ring wear.

They timed it just right. Dean gets to Gorilla just as Punk's coming through the curtain, sweaty and flushed and breathing hard. He's really hot. They're both really hot. AJ's feeling hot by osmosis.

She can't hear their conversation from this far away, but she has faith in Dean. He cuts promos that make everyone piss themselves weekly, she knows he can talk.

He must've said something along the lines of 'good match,' because Punk's facing her, more or less, and she can tell that he says 'Thanks, man.'

And then the main part of the plan is initiated. Dean says something else, something she can't see, and then slips his arm behind Punk's waist in a hug. It's fluid, normal, nothing that could be seen as over-the-top. The guys hug all the time after a good match.

Dean's hand settles low on Punk's back, his chin hooked over Punk's shoulder, and their chests are pressed together. It's oddly arousing, Dean fully dressed while Punk's just in his trunks. The contrast is kind of beautiful. And if their heads were turned just a little toward each other, their mouths would totally be touching.

Punk's eyes are closed, and he looks like he'd really like to just bury his face in Dean's neck, but instead he just pats the other man's back and then moves his hand to ruffle the back of Dean's hair. Cute. Very cute. AJ wants to see them fuck like animals.

The hug ends just before it might've gone on too long in someone's opinion (certainly not AJ's) and they talk for a little while longer before Punk notices her sat on her chair and bobs his head in her direction. Dean squeezes Punk's shoulder and nods, looking over as well. He's blushing just a little. God damn it, he really shouldn't be allowed to happen. She gives them a wave.

When Punk walks toward her, she's pleased to have an uninterrupted view of Dean visibly giving Punk a once over from behind before he gives her a thumbs up and makes his way down the corridor. They exchanged numbers earlier, so she'll check in via text once she's alone.

"Hey!" she greets when Punk leans down to kiss her hello, his hand on the side of her neck. "Good match, cutie."

"It was okay," he says, always a ray of sunshine. "I can never get the height I want on that elbow drop."

"You're so hard to please," AJ sighs, twisting so that she can sit with her legs across his lap once he's sat down. "Are you all done for the night?"

"As far as I know, why?" Punk asks, settling a hand on her thigh. His fingers play at the edge of the leg of her shorts. "You on commentary again?"

"That's the plan. Brie's gonna shove me. I'll shout about it." AJ shrugs. "The usual."

"Sounds fun. Mind accompanying me to my locker room? I wanna change." He shoves her legs off his lap, but offers to piggy-back her there, so she forgives his rudeness.

"So, Punk," she says in a leading tone. Time to enact part two of the plan, assuming he doesn't just drop her at the very mention of Dean's name. "You know how you really like Dean Ambrose?"

Punk's grip tightens underneath her knees, but he doesn't drop her. "Yeah," he responds, drawing it out. "You're not back on this, are you?"

"I don't know what you mean," she says briskly. "I was just talking to him earlier and he seems really cool. I just wanted to let you know that you have great taste in men."

"Oh, shut up," he huffs. "Don't think just 'cause I like you means I won't drop you."

"I'm serious!" AJ insists. "He's really cool. Way out of your league, of course, but we can't have everything."

"I'm starting to think you're the one with the thing for Ambrose," Punk says wryly. 

"I've never made a secret of my fetish for cute boys in all black." AJ pecks a kiss to the side of Punk's neck. "But trust me, my crush on Dean Ambrose pales in comparison to yours."

Punk sighs heavily. "You're -- I don't know why I hang out with you."

"I enrich your life," she informs him. He snorts, but doesn't disagree. Win.

Once he's off showering, she pulls out her phone to find that she already has a text from Dean.

_was that as good for you as it was for me?_

She laughs as she types her response. _five stars. wanna swing by our locker room? he's showering. you might catch him in a towel. :D <3_

 _you're an evil genius_ is what she gets in response. She's pretty sure they'll have a visitor in a few minutes.

Sure enough, there's a knock on the door around the same time the water shuts off in the other room. AJ smiles to herself as she gets to her feet. She _is_ an evil genius.

"Am I in time for the show?" Dean asks when she opens the door. The way he's smiling is kind of self-deprecating. "I can't believe I just came here for the opportunity to see a guy in a towel who I see in less on a daily basis. This is really not okay, that I'm like this now."

"I think it's excellent," AJ says, opening the door wider. "C'mon in."

"Thanks." He shoves a hand through his hair. "My match is on the hour. You're before mine, aren't you?"

"Sweet of you to notice." AJ nudges him toward a chair. "Yeah, but it's just commentary. Won't be too long."

Punk's kind of predictable, and AJ knows him pretty well, so when he comes traipsing out of the shower with a towel loosely slung about his hips, it's not much of a surprise. The guys both go speechless for a few seconds, though, which is fun.

"Hey," Punk finally says. "Wasn't expecting to see you here." He gives AJ a narrow-eyed little stare, and she smiles back with as much innocence as is left in her soul. Not much. It's no surprise he just narrows his eyes more.

"I don't mean to impose," Dean says, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. "I can leave if you're busy." He's watching a droplet of water make its way down Punk's chest. AJ knows because she was just watching the same one.

"Nah, no problem, lemme just get dressed." Punk keeps one hand on his towel while he digs through his bag for the change of clothes he brought to the arena, and while his back's turned, Dean turns wide eyes to AJ and silently mouths the word 'wow'. She gets it. She so, so gets it.

"It's almost time for my match, actually," she pipes up, amused when she receives looks on both sides, one suspicious and one rather impressed. "I'll get out of your way. Wouldn't want to intrude on the boys' club."

She bounces over to give Punk a kiss on the cheek, and then, in a burst of inspiration, gives Dean one as well before she leaves without looking back.

Matches tend to go quickly when you're not a part of them, and this one's no different, though Brie wasn't lying when she said she was going to push AJ hard. She nearly slams her head into the barrier. Brie fusses once they get backstage, hugging AJ three times and making sure she's really, definitely, _positively_ alright before she lets her out of her sight. It's sweet, really. AJ thinks more than once about reminding her that they're professional wrestlers, but doubts that'd make a difference.

When she gets back to the locker room, she entertains herself with vivid fantasies about what could be going on inside. Maybe they've decided to fuck on the locker room floor in a fit of wild torrid passion. Probably not, this close to Dean's match, but a girl can dream.

Sure enough, there's no torrid passion when she opens the door, but Punk still hasn't managed to put pants on, so there's at least a higher percentage of nudity than she was expecting.

"Oh, shit," says Dean. "That was fast. I should probably go, actually, the boys'll be wondering where I am. So we can go over the match." He shakes his head. "I didn't even notice the time."

Their heads are bent together, and before she'd walked in, their chairs had been scooted so close that their thighs were touching. The sexual tension in the room is almost audible.

"No problem. See you later?" AJ asks with a smile, placing her belt on her bag. For something so chintzy, it sure is heavy. "Or tomorrow, whenever."

"Yeah, yeah, sure." He gets to his feet. AJ's always a little surprised by how tall he is, even taller than Punk. "Thanks for the talk," he directs toward Punk, offering a hand. Punk shakes it, and AJ wants to shout at them that hugs are awesome and they could both stand to be hugged more often.

"Always a pleasure," Punk responds. 

When Dean walks past her, he stops, then backtracks, then gives her a kiss on the cheek before he leaves, because he's unfairly charming and cute.

AJ feels much more like her character than she normally does as she skips a little, settling down in the seat that Dean just vacated. She folds her arms and smiles, waiting.

"Not a word," he warns.

"Did you literally get so distracted talking to Dean that you forgot to put on pants?"

Punk groans and gets up, stomping back over to his bag. "Shut up. I don't love you and I'm breaking up with you."

"I'm just saying," AJ just says, holding her hands up in placation. "I've never been so distracted talking to a guy that I _forgot to put on clothes_."

"Okay," says Punk, jerking on a pair of track pants. "If I admit that I might -- _might_ \-- think Ambrose is decent-looking and not uninteresting, will you drop this?"

"Nope," AJ says unapologetically. "But I will take it under advisement and figure out some way to make kisses happen."

Punk groans. "Why? Why does it matter? Why's it important to you?" He yanks a shirt on, which is a shame.

"Because cute guys kissing is very important?" AJ rolls her eyes. "I just think it's stupid if you want to kiss him and he wants to kiss you and you're not kissing. There's no reason. It's nonsense."

"It's really weird that you're encouraging this, I want you to know that," Punk tells her. "I've never dated anybody who tried to get me to make out with other people."

"They were missing out, then, weren't they?" AJ replies. "It also means I'm your best girlfriend ever."

"That wasn't ever in question, actually," Punk says, kissing her on the head.

AJ laughs and pats his ass. "Smooth. Very smooth. Might get you into my pants later."

"That's what I'm hopin' for." Punk sits in his chair, and she screeches when he pulls her down into his lap and wraps his arms around her waist. "Seriously. What's your motive here, with this me and Ambrose thing?"

“You’re making it more complicated than it needs to be.” AJ leans back against him, his warmth pressed all along her back. If someone had told her a year ago that dating CM Punk would feel anything like security she would’ve laughed in their face. That’s how he feels, though, solid and stable. They’re good for each other. “You’re okay looking sometimes, you know.”

“Thanks,” Punk snorts, nuzzling the back of her neck, where her only tattoo is. “You’re not bad, either.”

“And Dean Ambrose is super hot. What’s so weird about wanting to watch super hot people make out? It’s basically like my own private porn show.” AJ traces the lines of ink on his fingers. “And you like him. I like him. He likes both of us. I just think it’d be nice.”

His chin hooks over her shoulder. His face is scratchy, rough, and it reminds her of waking up some mornings with beard burn on her inner thighs, going through the day feeling like she had some sort of sexy secret that only they knew about.

She likes sexy secrets. Punk likes them, too.

“Okay,” he mutters, turning his hand over to hold hers. “Okay, maybe I wouldn’t hate it. Have you talked to Ambrose about this?”

“What kind of evil genius do you take me for?” AJ demands to know. There are butterflies in her stomach the size of grizzly bears. “Want me to text him to meet up after his match? We can ride back to the hotel together.”

Punk’s got a bus, which AJ knows makes him feel weird, so most of the time he doesn’t sleep in it. Plus, it’s really hard to have sex on a moving bus in one of those bunks.

“You’re sure he’s into it, though? I don’t wanna get sucked into one of your schemes if you had to trick him into this.”

AJ laughs and reaches back to pat his cheek. “It’s really cute that you think people need to be coerced into kissing you. Believe it or not, there _are_ some people in the world who just want to jump your bones.”

“Lucky for me, huh?” Punk growls a little and AJ squeals as he kisses her neck, squirming off of his lap.

“I’m texting him now,” AJ says, dancing away from Punk’s grabby fingers. “Shall I just let him know you’ve finally got your head out of your ass?”

Punk sighs, forlorn, tilting his head back to look at the ceiling. “Yeah, whatever.”

AJ types quickly, even though Dean’s probably out for his match or getting ready for his match or cooling down from his match. _punk said yes, it’s a go, ur getting lucky tonight. :D meet us @ locker room to go back to hotel?_

“Message sent,” AJ announces, shoving her phone into her pocket. “I should probably change before he gets here, d’you mind?”

“Can I watch?” Punk leers at her, and she pretends to think about it.

“It is your locker room,” she allows, pulling off the shirt she’d worn to do commentary. “It’d be rude to kick you out.”

Her phone buzzes ten minutes later with a reply from Dean. _jesus. you work fast, don’t you? be there in 10._

“He’ll be here in a few minutes,” AJ says, grabbing the first pair of pants she sees. Sweatpants, not very sexy, but she’s not the person seducing anybody here, so it doesn’t really matter.

“You’re very efficient, aren’t you?” Punk asks, his arms wrapping around her shoulders from behind. He props his chin on her head, because he’s an asshole. “I’ve never seen such organization.”

“I’ve never gotten to organize something like this.” AJ can’t get the smile off her face. “Do you have any idea how many people would be jealous of me if they knew? All of them. Every single person.”

“I don’t really want to think about it.” Punk shakes his head, shimmying her from side to side. “I’m jittery,” he says with disbelief. “What’ve you done to me? I feel like I’m going to prom.”

“Ask Dean to dance with you,” AJ suggests, detaching his arms from her so that she can finish packing her bag, carefully placing her Diva’s title on top of the rest of her things. “He looks like he’d know a nice waltz or two.”

Punk stays silent for a moment. “Does he?” he asks finally, shouldering his own bag. “I’ve never thought of Ambrose as the dancing type.”

“I’ll make a note to ask him.” AJ checks her phone one last time before she tucks it into the pocket of her bag. “You’re all ready?”

Before he can answer, there’s a staccato rap at the door, and AJ can practically see the nervous jump of Punk’s throat.

“You can jump through tables but talking to the guy you’ve got a crush on makes you stutter?” AJ mumbles as she walks past to get the door. 

She’s pretty sure Punk sticks his tongue out at her back.

“Hi, dreamboat!” she greets Dean, giving him a hug. For a moment, he doesn’t seem to know what to do with his arms before he wraps them around her in return.

“Hi,” he says back. He smells really nice; he’s showered since his match and he smells like soap and clean dude. It’s nice. “Hi,” he repeats, but it’s softer, less sure of itself. Talking to Punk.

“Hey, man,” Punk replies. He sounds just as awkward. God, it’s a good thing she’s around or this probably never would’ve happened. “How’d your match go?”

“Good.” Dean gives AJ an extra squeeze and her back a little rub before he lets go. He’s a good hugger. She hopes she gets the opportunity to do it more often. “Took a harder bump off the apron than I was expecting, but that’s the nature of the game, isn’t it?”

He’s dressed down, his hair still damp from his shower, and if AJ’s purpose at the moment wasn’t to get him to kiss Punk, she would want to kiss him herself. He looks really nice and he gives good hugs.

Punk slips behind her, a hand on her hip. “We should get going before the rush,” he says, his voice low since they’re all right there. AJ’s short enough that she can tilt her head to watch the way they’re looking at each other, and it’s really unfair that in one exchanged glance they can make _her_ knees weak.

Dean raises an eyebrow and then seems to come to a decision, getting his arm around Punk’s waist and pulling him into a hug like AJ had done to him, except Punk is taller so he fits better, and wow, up close this is much more potent than it had been when she saw it from a distance.

This time, Punk lets out a long breath and does what he’d clearly wanted to the first time, pressing his face against Dean’s neck when he hugs him back. They look really nice together. AJ thinks that she should probably be jealous, but that’s stupid. She knows how Punk feels about her. It’s not cheating if the other person is okay with it, and she’s more than okay with it.

She’s disappointed when they break apart, but Punk’s gone flushed in the face and Dean has a silly smile on his face that he looks down to hide, so that’s almost as good as the hug itself.

“I’ll drive,” Punk says, then clears his throat. “Did you come with Rollins and Reigns?”

“Yeah, I told them to go ahead without me.” Dean is still smiling. 

“Good. Good.” Punk shoves his hand through his hair. “Good.” He leads the way, Dean lingering behind with AJ at a slower pace.

“This is the greatest night of my life,” AJ whispers to him, bumping him with her hip.

Dean laughs, disbelieving, bumping her back. “Back at you. Still kind of don’t know how this is happening.”

“Because I am the greatest person on the face of the planet, mostly,” AJ says lightly, finding herself with the urge to skip again. “You can thank me later.”

“I’m pretty sure I’ll be thanking you for a long time.” Dean shakes his head. “You’re a really unique individual, you know that?”

“I do my best,” AJ replies, hooking her arm with Dean’s. He’s too much taller than her for it to be anything but cumbersome, and Dean absolutely refuses to skip with her, but AJ tries nonetheless.

\--

Their hotel room is cold like hotel rooms tend to be, and AJ wrinkles her nose, dropping her bag and immediately heading over to fiddle with the knob on the machine. Punk and Dean trail in behind her, and once the door’s closed, they can all feel the atmosphere change, she thinks. Or that might be the air conditioner again.

AJ sits herself sideways in the chair beside the bed, more comfortable than hotel room chairs usually are. To their credit, Punk and Dean are both already sitting on the bed, but they’re both looking at her like they’re waiting for instructions.

She flutters her hands at them. “Don’t mind me. I’m just a fly on the wall. Do whatever.”

It’s incredible to watch. A little bit like a dance. AJ doesn’t even blink.

Punk rubs the back of his neck and looks at Dean, who looks down at his hands, then back up, setting a hand on Punk’s leg. Punk looks down at Dean’s hand, then back up, then sets his hand on top of Dean’s.

Dean’s other hand settles on the side of Punk’s face, his fingers spanning his jaw as he leans in. Punk stays still, breathing in as Dean’s lips touch his, but his eyes close, and there’s a tightly spun moment of absolute tension before it breaks and Punk is pushing back against Dean with urgency, a hand twisted in the hem of Dean’s shirt, his head tilting to kiss Dean harder. AJ feels like there’s not enough air in her lungs, and she’s not being kissed.

Fierce is the first word that comes to mind. It’s a push and pull, both of them wanting more like men starved of air, and the hand Dean has on Punk’s jaw doesn’t stay there, curling back behind his neck to pull him in closer. Their mouths are open. AJ can see flashes of tongue between their mouths every so often, deep inhales and exhales in between their lips. 

She wonders how long they’ve wanted to do this. Maybe it’s been months, since Dean debuted on the roster all swagger and ego onscreen and quiet confidence off it. Or -- _or_ \-- maybe it’s been years, since their match at FCW, since Punk had gotten into the ring with him and found out that Dean Ambrose really was on his level. Maybe Dean’s been wanting to do this since Punk was wrestling in the indies, amassing a cult following. How long have they wanted to wrestle in more ways than one?

However long it’s been, AJ’s glad she’s getting to see it. It feels like a gift.

Dean has, slowly, patiently, urged Punk down until his spine hits the bed, now hovering over him with one hand planted on the bed. Their mouths are still touching, but barely, and Dean huffs a laugh against Punk’s lips before he ducks his head to kiss him again. AJ knows that laugh, has laughed it on occasion herself. Sometimes, when you’re being kissed well, it’s so nice that you can’t do anything other than laugh.

Punk arches up against Dean, which is an image AJ will make sure to keep stored in her brain for those late lonely nights, and one of his hands finds the strip of skin showing between Dean’s shirt and his jeans, tucking up underneath the cloth to rest on his side. His fingers are touching the dip of Dean’s waist, right before the curve of his ass, and AJ’s eyes keep moving back to that place. She thinks it’s the casual intimacy of it, but whatever it is, it’s doing it for her.

They’re both all the way on the bed now, one of Punk’s legs bent at the knee, the other out straight, and Dean is resting there in the cradle of Punk’s hips, which is a fun place to rest. AJ knows from experience. She wonders if they’re both hard. She can’t imagine how they wouldn’t be, actually experiencing what she’s getting to watch.

Oh, there it is, the little hitch in Dean’s hips that she was half-expecting. He’s trying not to rock them downwards, but Punk, in a move she’s got to say she wasn’t expecting, uses the hand on Dean’s side to press him down, earning him a noise from Dean that AJ wants to remember for the rest of her life. As unobtrusively as she possibly can, she slips her hand down past the loose tie of her sweatpants. She hopes they won’t mind if she has a little fun at their expense.

She knows about Punk’s experience with guys, but not so much Dean’s. They’re both falling into it brilliantly, from her point of view. The way that they’re touching is gorgeous, like they’ve been starving for it. She wonders if something might’ve happened between them if the Diva’s matches were longer than five minutes; would she have returned to a different scene? They were so close together when she came through the door. Maybe they would’ve kissed.

Maybe they would have done more.

Maybe Dean would’ve set a hand on Punk’s thigh accidentally as they were talking, and maybe Punk’s skin would’ve tingled at his touch, and maybe their eyes would’ve locked and their faces would’ve gotten closer together until they were pressed up against each other like they are right now, every movement causing a gasp that’s trapped between their mouths.

AJ bites her lip and presses up against her hand, her fingers sliding along slick wetness. She feels flushed all over, her nipples pressing hard against the thin material of her t-shirt. She thinks she could probably get off if she was only listening to them, all desperation and pent up tension finally breaking free.

She’s not so far away that she can’t hear when Dean breaks away from Punk’s mouth, his own reddened and shiny, his expression a little like he’s been hit over the head with something hard, to whisper, “This okay?” into Punk’s ear. Sort of into his ear. It seems more like an excuse to kiss Punk’s jaw, and then his neck.

“Uh,” Punk replies, at least as blindsided as Dean had been. AJ would erupt into uncontrollable giggles if she wasn’t so goddamn turned on; she’s never heard Punk sound so close to speechless. “Uh-huh.”

“I really wanna suck your dick,” is what Dean says next, straight to the point. AJ’s pretty sure she hears Punk choke. “You can say no,” Dean adds, his hips still moving in miniscule increments. He’s riding Punk’s thigh. AJ’s biting her lip so hard that she thinks she’s close to breaking the skin.

The incredulous look on Punk’s face is hysterical, and AJ can’t help but squeak out a laugh at it, biting the knuckles of her other hand to muffle it. Punk glances over at her anyway, and his eyes catch immediately on the sight of her hand working in her pants. He licks his lips and AJ shivers, her thumb moving in slow, tight circles on her clit. 

“Yeah,” Punk mutters, looking back to Dean and moving his leg upward, in a slow grind that makes Dean groan and drop his head. “Yeah, yeah, okay.”

Dean’s face lights up like he’s just gotten the best present in the whole world. Like Punk’s dick is ambrosia from the heavens. To be fair, it’s pretty damn good; AJ highly recommends it.

Dean shuffles down the bed, kissing the skin where Punk’s shirt has been shoved up, whether from Dean’s hands or movement against the bed. It’s a moment of cute amongst all the sexy, Punk’s hand settling on Dean’s head and petting his hair while Dean tugs Punk’s shorts down enough to mouth at his hip bone. And back to sexy.

Punk is leaning up on one elbow to watch Dean, his other hand remaining in his hair. He’s not pulling it, just touching, and the expression on his face is almost curious as Dean pulls his shorts down the rest of the way, his hand wrapping around Punk’s cock with a more gentle hand than AJ might’ve expected.

Her eyes are dry because she keeps forgetting to blink, so focused is she on this. It’s like they’re the only people left in the world, like it’s just Dean and Punk left and AJ is some sort of invisible deity watching them. She has one hand in her pants and the other absently toying with a nipple through her shirt, trying to pace herself as well as she can. She wants this to last as long as she can make it.

Dean’s hand strokes up and then down to settle at the base of Punk’s dick, holding it steady and licking over the head of it, slow and smooth in one stroke of his tongue. Punk bites out a curse, his hand in the sheets clenching into a fist and then relaxing again. Dean fits his mouth down over Punk’s cock and the whole room releases a breath, Dean’s eyelashes fluttering when his eyes close, his brows pulling together like he’s concentrating.

Punk’s teeth have caught his lower lip, caught in the perpetual throes of _fuck_ , his eyes locked on Dean’s mouth where it’s stretching to take in more of his cock. AJ’s never watched somebody suck a dick in person. She’s almost positive she does not look that good when she’s doing it. Dean looks like he’s having a religious experience, worshipping at the altar of Punk’s cock. 

AJ muffles another laugh, her head falling back for a second. She’s pretty sure that she’s so wet she’s soaked through her underwear, because somebody else is sucking her boyfriend’s cock.

And sucking it well, if the noises making it through Punk’s bitten lip are any indication. Dean strokes his hand up to meet his mouth and then back down, sucking down to meet his hand, with loud, wet sounds that mingle with the groans that Punk just can’t help, and _that_ is a thought, that Dean is so good that Punk can’t stop himself from making noise about it, that Dean’s mouth makes Punk’s mouth reckless. That’s a thought. That’s a good thought.

If Dean’s lips were kiss-stung before, they’re raw now, slick and pink and sucking, and he’s making noises of his own, low, barely audible _mmm_ s and sighs and eager sounds, pleased sounds. They’re practically hardwired to AJ’s cunt, and she shudders, riding down as much as she can against her fingers, her thumb slipping and sliding through her wetness.

Her eyes are stuck, watching Punk’s stomach muscles tense, watching his fingers stroke through Dean’s hair, watching Dean’s mouth as he gets more messy with it, spit down his chin, his face so flushed with the heat of it. He’s _enjoying_ this so much that AJ feels like she’s getting residual pleasure, like sympathy pains but so, so much better.

The way Dean’s hand is pressed to Punk’s hip is hot in a strange way. Dean’s not that much bigger than Punk, but his hand is effortlessly keeping him pinned to the bed as his hips try of their own accord to press up toward Dean’s mouth.

“ _Fuck_ ,” finally slips from Punk’s mouth, his hand dropping from Dean’s hair to his shoulder, tapping him there. Dean hums in response and Punk’s head falls back, his elbow slipping so that he’s flat on his back on the bed and his back arches just a little even though Dean’s still holding his hip down. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Punk grinds out, and AJ watches Dean’s throat bob once, twice – he’s swallowing. The room is so hot that it feels a little like she’s on fire.

She has to close her eyes, finally, when Dean pulls back, swiping his wrist across his chin. The muscles in her thighs are tense, and when she comes it’s like a star exploding, like the orgasm to end all orgasms. It leaves her breathless and boneless, flopped across this chair like an old jacket. Maybe she’ll just stay here for the rest of her life. She’s not sure she’ll be able to move for about six years.

Lazily, she turns her head to watch as Dean leans up the bed and Punk has a hand behind his neck, pulling him into a kiss. It’s as lazy as she is, lips and tongues and satisfaction, and the blood’s rushing in her ears so she doesn’t actually hear what Punk says, but it was surprising, from the look on Dean’s face.

She whimpers weakly when Punk undoes Dean’s jeans, sliding his hand into them to draw out Dean’s cock. It’s a nice cock. Her clit is throbbing in time with her heartbeat and still too sensitive to touch, so all she can do is watch as Punk gets his hand around Dean’s cock and strokes. She doesn’t have a very good view but that’s just as well, because there’s only so much a girl can take before she just dies and becomes Casper the Horny Ghost.

It doesn’t take long for Punk to tug Dean off, and in a way that’s just as nice to think about, that sucking Punk’s cock was enough foreplay for Dean that he’s itching to come, desperate for it – oh, no, AJ’s going to stop thinking about that until her legs aren’t shaking.

Whatever noise Dean makes when he comes is lost in Punk’s neck, but AJ can imagine it. She hopes that she’ll have more than just this opportunity to hear what it sounds like, whether it’s low, like a grunt, or something more like a whine.

“Come here,” Punk says, and it takes her a second to realize he’s talking to her, his arm outstretched toward the chair she’s draped over. AJ stumbles off of it, her legs still coming back online, and shoves herself under his arm in half of a hug.

Punk sighs heavily, his chest heaving in shallow bursts. “In about ten minutes – when I can feel my arms again – we are going to have a talk about this.”

From Punk’s other side, Dean mumbles an affirmative, and AJ gives him a pat on the shoulder.

“Well done, soldier,” she says, exhausted, tucking one of her ankles under Punk’s leg. “You’ve done your duty.”

Dean nudges her foot with his, and they end up in a twisted tango, horizontal and weaving through Punk’s legs.

“Can you waltz?” AJ asks abruptly, leaning up and onto Punk’s chest to look at Dean, who looks back, perplexed and still a little pink in the face. He frowns.

“I – took Polka lessons once to try and impress a girl,” he replies. “Uh, why?”

AJ smiles with satisfaction, tucking herself back down against Punk. “No reason.”

Punk snorts. “Fine, we can keep him. But you’re the one who gets to feed and walk him.”

“Can I put him on a leash?”

“Maybe for your birthday.”


End file.
